Home > Books > Come Hell or High Water (DCI Logan Crime Thrillers #13)(40)

Come Hell or High Water (DCI Logan Crime Thrillers #13)(40)

Author:JD Kirk

Sinead took a different approach, and set about trying to distract Kathryn from the fact she wasn’t eating anything.

“We, uh, we met your neighbours last night,” she said. “The Westerly Wellness group. They seemed like an interesting bunch.”

“They were,” Kathryn said. “Slim pickings now, mind.”

“Sorry?” Sinead asked. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it used to be stowed out, didn’t it? Like bleedin’ Woodstock it was, some weeks. Not now, mind. Nothing like it used to be.”

Logan forced down the gritty oats. “Business isn’t good?” he asked.

“I mean, I don’t know what he charges, do I? None of my business, that,” Kathryn said. “I’m just saying, he’s not getting the numbers he used to. Not as many big, beefy boys around these days.”

“What happened, do you think?” Sinead asked.

“I’ll tell you what’s not happening is you eating your bleedin’ breakfast,” Kathryn pointed out. “I don’t care if it’s hot or cold. You’re eating it, either way.”

Sinead was aware that she was a Detective Constable of police, and that this woman had no authority over her whatsoever. And yet, she found herself scooping up a spoonful of porridge, and gingerly tasting it with the tip of her tongue.

“Bernie happened, didn’t he? Him and his bleedin’ protests,” the old woman continued. “Right bleedin’ nuisance he made of himself. Shouting, and bawling, and talking a load of old shit.”

“Your man—André—he said that Bernie didn’t affect business,” Logan said. “He told me it was as strong as ever.”

Kathryn sniffed. “Well, I’m not one to call anyone a fucking liar, but he’s a fucking liar if that’s what he told you, and you can take that to the bank. Bernie’s been a right pain in his arse, and no mistake. And now he’s dead, I hear.”

“Where did you hear that?” Logan asked.

Kathryn sniffed. “So, it’s true then, is it? You never know around here. They’re exaggerating bastards, the lot of them. Someone hears you fart at Corran Ferry, and you’ve shat yourself by Achnalea.”

“We haven’t formally identified the body yet,” Logan said. “But we have reason to believe it could be Bernie, yes.”

“Well, I’m not one to point fingers, but I know which way I’d be pointing them if I was,” Kathryn said. “Right across the bleedin’ road, and that’s a fact.”

“You think André could have killed Bernie?” Logan asked.

“That’s not for me to say,” Kathryn said. “But I wouldn’t put it past the bugger. Like I say, Bernie’s been a right pain in his backside. These last few months especially. If I was him, I’d be dancing a fucking jig now that someone’s done the bugger in. And I’ll tell you this much for free, if I was you, I’d be having serious words with him.”

Before Logan could push her any further, there came a clatter from the kitchen, which was followed a moment later by a burst of excited barking.

Despite her age, Kathryn demonstrated a remarkable turn of speed as she pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. “My bleedin’ sausages!” she cried, then she threw open the door to the kitchen and went racing through.

“What do you mean your sausages?” Logan called after her. “I thought they were for the dog?”

He heard a scraping and looked down to find his bowl, which had been almost empty, now practically full once again.

“Come on, sir,” Sinead said, smirking as she set her now-empty plate down in front of her again. “Better eat up, or we’ll never get out of here.”

DI Ben Forde stood in front of the cobbled-together Big Board, holding his breath as he attached a Post-it note to the top left corner with the same care and attention he’d shown back in his days on the bomb squad.

When the note was attached, he held both hands an inch or two away, ready to grab the board should the whole thing collapse. Once he was sure it was holding steady, he finally exhaled and stepped back.

He turned with the air of someone who’d just pulled off the single most impressive move in the history of Jenga or Buckaroo, then nodded to the trio of officers assembled before him.

“Right then,” he said, pointing to the single note on the board. “The victim. Bernie. What do we know?”

He, Hamza, and Tyler all turned to PC Suzi Tanaka, who’d been asked to join the meeting. They’d chosen her of the two available local constables because she seemed to be a bit more switched on than her male counterpart, PC Chris Miller.

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